


obsidian and fire

by magnificentbirb



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, As Shippy As a Dragon-Rider Relationship Can Be I Suppose??, Dragon Riders, Dragon shifters, Hurt/Comfort, Hyung Line are Captains, Light Angst, M/M, Maknae Line are Dragons, Minor Character Death, Platonic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbirb/pseuds/magnificentbirb
Summary: The dragonet’s eyes blink open at last, slit-pupiled and scarlet, and his gaze meets Seonghwa’s.Captain Park Seonghwa of the Kingdom's Dragon Corps is assigned to a new dragon.
Relationships: Choi San/Park Seonghwa
Comments: 47
Kudos: 257





	obsidian and fire

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY SAN DAY, HAVE SOME DRAGONS!
> 
> heavily inspired by naomi novik's temeraire series, which was downright formative for me, but i tweaked it a bit to fit my own story needs~ owo
> 
> dragons + shifting + deep bonds between dragons and riders = profit?
> 
> enjoy!

The egg is gleaming obsidian, streaked through with red and gold, and it’s starting to wriggle on its little nest of glowing coals.

Seonghwa watches it with his heart in his throat. He adjusts the cuffs of his jacket, runs a shaking hand through his hair for what must be the fourth time in the last minute. The hatching room is stifling, lit by braziers and at least ten coal fires, each with a different egg perched on top of it, some small enough to fit in the palm of Seonghwa’s hand, others large enough to come past his hip. Seonghwa dabs his jaw with his cuff, trying to catch the worst of the sweat.

Hongjoong grips Seonghwa’s wrist and gently pulls his hand down to his side, linking their fingers.

“It’ll be fine,” Hongjoong says with a smile. “You’ve done this before, and this one will go just as well.”

Seonghwa grunts noncommittally, but he squeezes Hongjoong’s hand nonetheless, appreciating the support.

He _has_ done this before. Twice, in fact. Once for a little courier dragon named Byul, who was utterly smitten with him before she was offered a cozy position at a northern outpost along the border and took it with his warm encouragement, and once again a few years later, for a heavy-weight combat dragon named Mingi who ended up taking a shine to one of Seonghwa’s lieutenants, which ended in the lieutenant's promotion and Seonghwa being set at liberty again, with no hard feelings on any side, dragons being notoriously capricious in their tastes for handlers as they age, and Yunho being an incredibly deserving captain.

But this egg… this one is a fire-breather, one of the rare crown jewels of the Kingdom’s dragon Corps. This one feels _important_ in a way Seonghwa hasn’t experienced before. 

And Seonghwa is going to be its first handler.

The egg starts to tip with more gusto, and Seonghwa tightens his grip on Hongjoong’s hand, his own palm slick and sweaty. It’s only the two of them and Yeosang in the hatching room, the better to not overwhelm the hatchling once it breaks the shell, so when the scratching starts, talons scraping against the hard enamel of the inner shell, it’s loud enough to make Seonghwa jump.

The egg rocks again, harder this time, and Seonghwa hears the hatchling’s first little sound from within the shell, a high, frustrated hiss. The scratching continues, more insistent now, and then suddenly the hatchling lets out a high-pitched squawk, and the top half of the shell shatters, sending black shards of shell winging through the air.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong duck down immediately, covering their eyes, and Yeosang slips briefly behind the doorframe behind them, but Seonghwa can’t look away for long, because the egg is broken and his dragon has hatched.

Sleek black wings unfurl slowly from within the remains of the shell, shiny and slick and impossibly delicate. The dragonet is about the size of a large spaniel, with a graceful neck and a lovely ruff around its head, currently flattened in irritation. It shakes itself like a dog, sending more flakes of shell and fluid and steam spraying into the air, and then unfurls its wings with a snap like sail-cloth, revealing an impressive wingspan and a lovely pattern of red and gold along the wing’s edges, reminiscent of flames; Seonghwa notes vaguely, distantly, that the pattern indicates that it’s a male. The dragonet’s eyes blink open at last, slit-pupiled and scarlet, and his gaze meets Seonghwa’s. He peers at Seonghwa for a quiet moment, in which the only sound is Seonghwa’s racing heart, and then the dragonet cocks his pretty head.

“Hello,” he says in a chirping voice. “Are you the one who talked to me?”

Seonghwa forces himself to stand up straight, nodding, feeling somehow both numb and thrilled.

“Yes, that was me,” he says; it’s tradition, for the handler to spend the weeks before hatching with the egg, getting the hatchling used to their voice so that they recognize at least one human upon breaking the shell.

“You are Seonghwa.” The dragonet says his name confidently, fondly. He settles onto his haunches and arcs his neck around, nosing at a bit of shell still stuck to his shoulder, and then turns back to blink scarlet eyes at Seonghwa again. “You’ll be my companion?”

Seonghwa’s heart clenches. “Yes,” he says. “If that’s all right with you.”

The dragonet eyes him for a moment, then turns his gaze to Hongjoong, who inclines his head politely, and then to Yeosang, who gives the dragonet a soft smile. The dragonet then looks back to Seonghwa, looking thoughtful. He gets to his feet and climbs out of the remains of his shell, mincing slightly as he passes over the still-glowing coals his egg was sitting on, but the heat doesn’t seem to affect him. This comes to the dragonet’s apparent surprise, but not to Seonghwa’s.

 _Fire-breather_ , Seonghwa thinks, in wonder, as the dragonet approaches him. Seonghwa crouches and holds out a hand, palm forward. The dragonet noses his palm gently, tentatively. His scales are warm and soft to the touch. The dragonet comes closer, sniffing at Seonghwa’s sleeve, and then his chest, and then his neck and hair, bundling himself right into Seonghwa’s arms.

“You smell nice,” says the dragonet, approvingly, and Seonghwa lets out a low laugh.

“Thank you.” His hands hover over the dragon’s back, just in front of those lovely wings, furled neatly against the dragonet’s back and yet still long enough to brush the ground behind him. “May I?” he asks, not wanting to startle the dragonet with any unwanted contact.

“Yes,” says the dragonet, pressing his nose to Seonghwa’s jaw.

Seonghwa rests his hand tentatively on the soft black scales at the base of the dragonet’s neck, and then he runs his hand gently down the back of the dragonet’s curved neck, marveling at how soft the scales feel beneath his fingertips, at the banked-fire heat he can feel radiating from within the dragonet’s chest, even newly hatched. The dragonet lets out a pleased little chirp, nuzzling against Seonghwa’s neck, and Seonghwa can’t hold back his grin. He lifts his other hand to tickle beneath the dragonet’s chin, and watches with a fluttering stomach as the dragonet’s scarlet eyes slide shut in apparent contentment.

“Would you like a name, little one?” Seonghwa asks.

“Hm.” The dragonet blinks, pulling his head back slightly, the better to consider. “I don’t have a name, do I?”

“Not yet,” Seonghwa says. “But I can give you one, if you like.”

The dragonet sits back on his haunches and folds his wings neatly. “I’d like that, I think,” he says.

Seonghwa’s heart thuds hard. He glances up at Hongjoong, who smiles down at him encouragingly, his cheeks flushed.

“Okay.” Seonghwa lets out a breath, and then faces the dragonet, smiling warmly. “Then… San. Your name is San.”

He waits with bated breath as the dragonet tilts his head and says in his small, piping voice, “San.” He blinks scarlet eyes, flicks a red, serpentine tongue. “San,” he says again. “Yes, I like it. My name is San.” And then he leans in, noses Seonghwa’s wrist. “I’m hungry, Seonghwa,” he says.

Seonghwa’s heart trips slightly at the sound of his name in San’s voice, spoken so easily, so casually. He pets a hand over San’s sleek head.

“Okay, little one,” he says. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

*

A roll of thunder shudders the window panes for the third time in as many minutes, and Seonghwa opens his eyes, glaring at the darkness outside.

It’s the middle of the night, and the room is pitch black. Rain lashes the windows, a constant drumming that Seonghwa would normally have found comforting and perfect for sleep, but a knot of anxiety sits heavy in his chest.

He wonders how San is doing.

The dragonet is only a few weeks old now—still very much a baby in Seonghwa’s eyes, although rapidly reaching adolescence in dragon years—and this is the first thunderstorm of his young life. Did it wake him? Is he afraid? Have any of the older dragons been able to explain to him what’s happening, or is he just bearing it on his own, shivering and small and alone?

Another crack of thunder decides him, and Seonghwa flings off the covers, climbing silently out of bed. He shoves his feet into some boots, tugs a jacket over his pajamas, and slips out the door, heading for the dragon barracks.

He meets no one on his way, jumps only once at another boom of thunder, and then he’s outside the giant double doors that lead into the dragons’ indoor sleeping grounds. The doors are cracked to allow some air movement, and Seonghwa can feel the humid heat coming from the great sleeping bodies within, hear the gentle, bellows-like breathing of dozens of dragons. 

Seonghwa steps carefully inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light of the torches, hung on walls so high that Seonghwa can’t see their top. He picks his way carefully past the sleeping dragons, pausing only once when he fails at creeping silently past Mingi, who cracks open a large, curious eye when he hears Seonghwa approaching. The big dragon lets out a low, sleepy rumble when Seonghwa pats his muzzle in greeting, not even bothering to lift his great golden head.

“Where’s San?” Seonghwa whispers.

“In the east corner, last I saw,” Mingi says, as quietly as he can, but still loud enough that Seonghwa fears he’ll wake every dragon sleeping nearby.

Seonghwa pats Mingi’s nose in thanks, then makes his way to the eastern corner of the sleeping grounds, where the younger, smaller dragons tend to congregate. He finds San in the corner, entwined with a silvery white dragonet he recognizes as Yeosang’s new hatchling, a pretty, long-winged dragonet named Wooyoung.

San lifts his head as soon as Seonghwa approaches, apparently already awake. His ruff pricks up excitedly, and his tail twitches, brushing against Wooyoung’s face and making the younger dragonet snuffle.

“Seonghwa!” San’s piping voice is hushed, but Seonghwa still lifts a finger to his lips, urging him to be quiet.

“Shh, don’t wake Wooyoung,” he says, unable to keep from smiling as San tries to gently disentangle himself from Wooyoung, eager to get to his handler. Seonghwa isn’t at all surprised to find the two little dragons snuggling; they’re the youngest by far at the southern covert, no other eggs having hatched in the past year or so, and they took to each other immediately, Seonghwa and Yeosang already being close friends. San—a full week older than Wooyoung—decided to, rather literally, take the pretty little dragonet under his wing, and when Wooyoung accepted the attention with starry-eyed adoration, San could only respond in kind.

“Do I have to get up now?” Wooyoung mumbles, lifting a wing and a delicate forearm to let San more easily climb out of their embrace.

“No, no, I’m sorry. You can go back to sleep,” Seonghwa says, stooping to scratch gentle fingers over Wooyoung’s forehead, making the dragonet hum quietly.

San takes this moment to nuzzle Seonghwa’s neck, nearly knocking him backwards as he crowds against Seonghwa’s chest. He’s grown in the past few weeks, now the size and weight of a large hound, and Seonghwa has to catch himself with a hand before he topples over.

“Hello,” San says, not sounding the least bit contrite. “Not that I’m not very happy to see you, but what are you doing here?”

Seonghwa pets San’s sleek head, already feeling a bit silly now that he’s seen his dragon, who seems to be doing just fine.

“The storm woke me, and I figured I’d come see how you were doing,” Seonghwa says. 

“Oh.” San pulls back slightly, his ruff lowering. He glances at Wooyoung, who appears to be fast asleep once more, oblivious to their low conversation and the rain still pounding the outer walls. “I don’t like it,” San says in a whisper, as though admitting something terribly embarrassing. He shivers slightly, wings flaring. “It’s loud and irritating and I can’t sleep because I keep waiting for the rumbling to come.”

“Thunder,” Seonghwa says.

“Yes, that.” San’s scarlet eyes narrow. “I wish it would just be consistent so I could be ready for it.”

“It’s quite inconsiderate that way, isn’t it?” Seonghwa says with a small smile.

“I don’t like it,” San says again, grumpily.

Thunder rumbles into a deafening crack, echoing through the sky, and Seonghwa suddenly finds himself with an armful of trembling dragonet as San flings himself into Seonghwa’s arms, talons pricking little holes in Seonghwa’s jacket as he hides his face beneath Seonghwa’s jaw.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Seonghwa says, smoothing down San’s frilled ruff, which is pressed low against his neck in fright. “It’s just thunder, and thunder is just air. It can’t hurt you.”

“Then why is it so loud?” comes San’s plaintive little voice. 

“I…” Seonghwa blinks. “You know, I actually don’t know. Why don’t we look it up later?”

“I’d like that,” San says, always eager to learn new things.

Seonghwa scoots a bit so that his back is to the wall of the sleeping quarters, then settles into a sitting position, letting San curl into his lap. The dragon will soon be too big to fit comfortably into Seonghwa’s lap, but for now they can still make it work, Seonghwa running a comforting hand over San’s graceful neck, his folded wings. 

“I’m sorry you haven’t been able to sleep,” Seonghwa says quietly. “Would it help if I sit here with you for a while?”

San nuzzles Seonghwa’s hand. “Maybe,” he says, although the way his tail wraps around Seonghwa’s waist seems more like a firm _yes_. “Will you be comfortable, though? Are you warm enough?”

“I’ll be fine,” Seonghwa says. “You’re basically a little heater, anyway.” He pats San’s chest as he says it, scales warm beneath his palm, the ever-hot lungs of a fire-breather, and San lets out a pleased little rumble, snuggling closer to Seonghwa’s chest.

“Can you please tell me a bit more about thunderstorms, until I fall asleep?” San asks.

Seonghwa smiles. “Of course,” he says, and he quietly starts to explain everything he remembers from school about lightning, and cumulonimbus clouds, and thunder, until the pounding rain finally starts to abate, and they both fall asleep.

*

Months pass, and it feels like no time at all before San is almost at his full growth, about twice as tall as Seonghwa and at least six times as long. He puts on some bulk, but he is still delicate compared to some of the other combat-weight dragons, all sleek black-and-crimson scales and graceful curves. He passes Wooyoung in size when they’re both about three months old, to Wooyoung’s chagrin (and Yeosang’s amusement), but although Wooyoung remains smaller, his wings are much longer, and the two of them can often still be found curled up together, Wooyoung’s massive wings draped over them both.

Seonghwa is lying in the sun on San’s forearm, dozing as Yeosang reads out loud to their dragons from his spot on the grass near Wooyoung’s chest, when San suddenly lifts his head, blinking up at the sky.

“Seonghwa, there’s a dragon coming,” he says quietly, sounding more curious than alarmed, which is the only reason that Seonghwa doesn’t immediately leap down from San’s forearm in a panic.

Wooyoung raises his head too, squinting his icy gray eyes into the sunlight.

“I don’t recognize them,” he says, cocking his head. “The wingbeats are slow; it must be big.”

Seonghwa sits up, raising a hand to shield his eyes as he peers into the sky.

“Is anyone we know due back to base soon?” he asks Yeosang.

Yeosang closes the book, keeping his finger between the pages to mark their spot.

“Maybe…” he says. “Who do we know who would come to our clearing before checking in at the base?”

The dragon is in sight now, a dark silhouette against the light blue sky, large enough to block out the sun. Seonghwa feels San tense beneath him, his ruff standing on end. San’s foreclaw comes up slightly, hovering protectively near Seonghwa, ready to snatch him to safety should the other dragon prove to be a threat. Wooyoung mantles his large wings, curling his forearms around Yeosang and letting out a quiet warning hiss.

The large dragon descends on their clearing, great wingbeats bending treetops and sending leaves and twigs flying. San starts to rumble deep in his throat, steam wafting threateningly from between his jaws; Seonghwa presses a hand to his forearm to settle him, watching the big dragon warily, and it’s not until he catches sight of the rider perched at the base of the dragon’s neck that his suspicions are finally proven right and he relaxes with a smile.

“It’s Hongjoong,” he calls to Yeosang.

The great dragon lands heavily enough to shake the clearing, and then immediately crouches, pulling his wings in, as though trying to make himself seem smaller. He’s a beautiful beast, with gleaming aubergine scales and piercing golden eyes and twin rows of fierce horns running from his forehead down his neck.

“Surprise!” Hongjoong calls out merrily from the dragon’s back. The dragon raises a clawed hand to his back and lifts Hongjoong carefully down to the ground.

Seonghwa slides down from San’s forearm, giving him a reassuring pat as he goes, and then runs forward to meet Hongjoong in the middle of the clearing, lifting him into a tight hug.

“I had no idea you’d be back so soon!” he says, stepping back from Hongjoong. “Weren’t you supposed to be stationed out east?”

Hongjoong beams at him; his hair is a flyaway mess from being in the air, and his cheeks are ruddy from the wind.

“They called for us to come back south as soon as Jongho hit his full weight,” Hongjoong says, flicking a fond glance back at his giant dragon. “They want him to train with the other heavy-weights, and out east it’s mostly mid-sized fighters and couriers.”

Seonghwa blinks up at the large dragon in shock.

“Wait, this— _this_ is Jongho?” Seonghwa asks, stepping closer to the dragon as Yeosang joins them to greet Hongjoong with another hug. “This is your teeny tiny hatchling Jongho?”

Jongho leans down close, blinking large slit-pupiled eyes at Seonghwa.

“You’re Hongjoong’s friend?” he says. “San’s captain?”

“Yes.” Seonghwa smiles, reaching up to press a gentle hand to the soft scales on the great dragon’s snout. “Do you remember me from when you first hatched? You were so tiny then, Hongjoong used to carry you around in his coat pocket.”

“I remember your voice,” Jongho says, nosing Seonghwa gently (which, considering his size, still nearly knocks Seonghwa over, but Seonghwa knows the intention was to be gentle). Seonghwa’s smile grows wider, but then he hears a discontented hiss from behind him, and large talons curl carefully around his waist and tug him back against a solid chest, caging him in behind black-scaled forearms.

“Oh, San-ah, come on.” Seonghwa sighs. “Don’t be so rude. I’m just being friendly.”

“You are _my_ captain,” San says, stubbornly, curling closer around Seonghwa. He glares daggers at Jongho, scarlet eyes gleaming, steam and the tiniest lick of flames curling out from between his jaws.

“I’m not going to poach him,” Jongho says, looking petulant. “I have Hongjoong.”

“Maybe so,” San grumbles. “But Seonghwa is the best captain. You can’t blame me for being careful.”

“Good lord, San, do you think I’m just going to let myself get snatched away from you?” Seonghwa says, exasperated.

San blinks down at him.

“I don’t know,” he says, sounding a bit rueful. “You’re very small. If a big dragon like Jongho wanted to take you, he probably could.”

“I won’t!” Jongho protests. 

San narrows scarlet eyes at him, pupils contracting, but mutters, perhaps a bit reluctantly, “Okay, maybe _you_ won’t. But someone might. I’m just being careful.”

“It’s okay,” Wooyoung says, stepping up to join them. He nudges Yeosang gently with his snout. “If anyone tries to steal any of our captains from us, we’ll just help each other get them back, right?”

“Of course,” San says, his claws curling gently around Seonghwa. He turns his gaze to Jongho. “Do you want to join our pact? I know we just met, but your captain is friends with our captains, and we could use your size, if it comes to a fight.”

“I’m in,” Jongho says, eyes shining, apparently just excited to be included. 

“What fight are you even talking about?” Hongjoong asks. “Who said anything about any of us being stolen? And why’re you all suddenly turning into co-conspirators?” He turns to Seonghwa and Yeosang, exasperated and fond. “I’m home for two minutes, and they’re already plotting together. Look what we’ve raised.”

“And I’m sure Mingi’s no better,” Yeosang says.

“Oh, Mingi joined the pact ages ago,” San says, blinking down at Yeosang. “We actually started it when Yunho had to fly to headquarters on a courier once. Mingi thought he’d never come back because he’d end up preferring a smaller dragon, so we decided we’d go after him, if we had to.”

“I’m going to pretend I’m not hearing any of this,” Seonghwa says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Hongjoong, welcome back, we’re glad to have you. And Jongho, it’s wonderful to properly meet you again.”

“You too,” Jongho says, then turns his gaze to the dragons, suddenly looking shy (or at least as shy as a sixty-ton dragon can look). “And you’re San, so you must be… Wooyoung?”

“Yes!” Wooyoung ruffles his wings excitedly, any wariness at this new dragon gone. “Do you have any special abilities? San can breathe fire, and my wings are really long and make me really fast, see?” He spreads his great pearlescent wings, far enough that the wingtips brush the edges of the clearing. 

Jongho shuffles slightly, hunching his shoulders. “I think I’m just strong,” he says.

“Strong is good!” San chirps, also apparently now entirely over his initial distrust. “We need strong.”

“Do you two want to look after him while I head to base and check in?” Hongjoong asks San and Wooyoung, patting Jongho’s huge claw.

“Yes, he can stay here,” San says. “The clearing is more than big enough for the three of us. Are you hungry?” He turns to Seonghwa, blinking guilelessly. “Seonghwa, could we ask if dinner can be brought out early?”

Seonghwa smiles up at his dragon. “Sure. Yeosang and I will go back to base with Hongjoong, and we’ll ask the kitchens to prep some food for all of you, how does that sound?”

“Perfect, thank you,” San says, nuzzling him gently, and then the captains bid farewell to their dragons, leaving them to chatter excitedly in the clearing.

*

Wooyoung shifts for the first time when he is six months old.

It happens suddenly and without ceremony, as it so often does for dragons who have finally reached full maturity. One morning Yeosang goes to check on his dragon and comes back looking stunned and pleased with a chattering young man at his side, all white-blond hair and gray eyes and a cackling laugh, wrapped in Yeosang’s jacket.

“How do you feel?” Seonghwa asks Wooyoung, who beams at him.

“Small!” he says, and Yeosang ushers him off to the medics for his first-shifting check-up, smiling fondly.

Seonghwa finds San in his usual clearing a little later that morning, ruff pressed low and claws gouging at the dirt, clearly sulking.

“It’s just that I was hatched first,” he says, when Seonghwa asks him what’s wrong. “Why does Wooyoung get to shift first?” San lowers his head to the ground and huffs, sending a bright little fireball spiraling across the dusty ground (cleared of grass for the very reason of housing a young, sometimes sulky fire-breather).

Seonghwa pats his head, stroking right above his eye, a known sensitive spot that makes San’s eyes close momentarily, a low rumble building in his throat.

“It’s different for everyone,” Seonghwa says, trying not to let his amusement show in his voice. “You’ll be able to shift when your body is ready. Mingi was almost a year old before he was able to turn.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” San says, almost a wail, and Seonghwa barely manages to stifle a sigh.

“Would you feel a bit better if we went flying?” he says, petting San’s head again. 

“It can’t hurt,” San grumbles, although he does finally perk his head up at the idea, and Seonghwa finds himself lifted rather quickly onto San’s back once San has been harnessed and made ready.

They fly for a few hours, which seems to brighten San’s mood; it’s a lovely, sunny day, and San soars with barely any effort, his great black wings barely beating. Seonghwa lets San set their course, which leads them out over the nearby bay, San swooping low to startle seagulls and skim his claws through the waves, spraying saltwater onto his hide and sometimes onto Seonghwa’s clothes, but Seonghwa doesn’t mind; he closes his eyes and basks in the warm breeze, enjoying his dragon’s happiness.

San is in a much better temper when they return to his clearing later that afternoon, and he doesn’t even fall back into his sulk when they find Wooyoung curled up and napping in the sun, shifted back into his usual dragon form, long wings spread open to catch the sunlight. San sets Seonghwa carefully down onto the ground, then gives a great tongue-curling yawn before flopping ungracefully onto the ground right beside Wooyoung, who opens a single gray eye, leans over to nose affectionately at San’s cheek, and then goes right back to sleep.

“I’ll be back after dinner to read to you, okay?” Seonghwa says, petting the soft dark scales on San’s nose, and San nods, nudging Seonghwa gently.

Life goes back to normal for a couple of weeks, filled with flights and training and only one accidental fire caused by San sneezing after a meal. It’s been almost three weeks since Wooyoung first shifted when Seonghwa heads out to the dragons’ shared clearing in the late evening, planning to sit with San for a bit and read until he inevitably falls asleep. He has a brand new book tucked under one arm, whimsically wrapped with a little bow, since he knows how much San likes getting presents.

When Seonghwa reaches San’s clearing, he’s surprised to find it entirely empty, the only sign of his dragon a large curl of depressed grass, evidence of where San had last been lying.

Seonghwa’s heart starts to beat a bit faster; he frowns, trying to stave off his immediate concern.

“San-ah?” he calls. There’s no reply, only the soft hum of cicadas and crickets in the evening air. Seonghwa takes a deep breath, steps further into the clearing, raising his voice. “San!”

“Is that for me?” 

A soft, melodic voice speaks up from Seonghwa’s right, and he whirls to face the treeline just as a slim young man steps out of the shadows, head tilted in curiosity and, to Seonghwa’s flushing embarrassment, entirely naked.

And then Seonghwa’s eyes widen; he’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“S-San?” he whispers.

The young man smiles, the expression somehow both familiar and entirely new, and _of course_ this is his San, tousled black hair streaked with red, broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, delicate black talons tipping pale fingers and toes.

Seonghwa knows he’s staring, knows his jaw is hanging open like a gaping fish maw, but even through the initial shock that this is his dragon standing before him as a human, he is stunned by how utterly lovely San is.

“What?” San pauses, brow furrowing as he glances down at himself. “Is it weird? I haven’t really been able to get a good look at myself yet.”

“You’re beautiful,” Seonghwa blurts, and San beams at him and then throws himself into Seonghwa’s arms. The book tumbles forgotten to the ground, but Seonghwa doesn’t particularly mind; he’s too distracted by warm skin beneath his fingertips, soft hair brushing his cheek, the gentle gust of breath against his neck as San lets out a little laugh.

Seonghwa lets out a startled laugh, threading his fingers gently into San’s hair.

“How did you—I didn’t expect you to shift so soon,” Seonghwa breathes, too amazed and pleased to properly form a question.

“Wooyoung told me I should try it anyway.” San nuzzles into Seonghwa’s neck, letting out a pleased hum. “No one expected him to shift yet, either, but clearly that wasn’t true.” San pulls away so he can meet Seonghwa’s eyes, keeping his arms hooked around Seonghwa’s neck. “You like it, then?” 

Seonghwa lifts his hands to gently cup San’s cheeks. “Are you happy?”

“Yes.” San grins, his eyes crinkling, and Seonghwa’s heart trips over itself; human-San has _dimples_. “I rather like being able to be held by you again, like when I was a hatchling. I don’t think I’d give it up for flying, but it’s still quite nice.”

Seonghwa smiles, and leans in to press a kiss to San’s forehead. “Then I like it, too. Now let’s find you some clothes, shall we?”

*

Gunfire booms, echoing through the night, and San jerks beneath Seonghwa, letting out a low cry. His wings still beat smoothly as he streaks towards the enemy dragon, but Seonghwa’s heart sinks. He leans forward, presses his bare hand to the corded muscles in San’s neck, but before he can speak, he feels the familiar rumble and rising heat building in San’s chest, and then white-hot flames spill from San’s mouth, sending the larger dragon screeching into the darkness. Seonghwa catches a whiff of crisping, burning scales, and the distant sound of a captain screaming for her beast to flee.

And then the flames stop, and San coughs, a terrible wet sound that sends fear shooting down Seonghwa’s spine.

“Back to base, go!” he yells, squeezing his knees to urge San to speed, and San struggles to bank, wings catching the air like sails, his muscles trembling.

The landing ends up being more of a collapse than anything else, and Seonghwa throws himself from San’s back as soon as they touch down, almost falling in his haste to reach San’s head.

“SIYEON!” he shouts, but he didn’t need to; Siyeon and a group of medics are already sprinting into the clearing, having followed San’s rough landing.

“Hurts—” San’s voice shakes, hot breath curling around Seonghwa as Seonghwa falls to his knees beside his head, petting the soft scales of his muzzle, resting his head against San’s cheek. 

“I know,” Seonghwa says, stroking San’s nose even as he hears Siyeon start snapping orders to the other medics who ran to meet San as they landed. “I know, but I need you to hold still, okay? It’ll be over soon.”

Seonghwa’s knees are soaked in dark, viscous blood, steaming on the ground around him. San’s sides heave in painful breaths, and Seonghwa can hear his claws flexing behind him, gouging dark furrows into the earth. Seonghwa glances over at the wound and his stomach swoops; a metal spear the size and width of a small tree is embedded into San’s shoulder, buried deep and leaking blood.

“I want to shift,” San says, almost a whine, and Seonghwa’s breath stutters in panic.

“No, you can’t—it’s easier for Siyeon to treat your wound this way, that’s a dragon-sized spear inside you, and if you shift, it could—“ Seonghwa breaks off, choked by horror. “It could tear you apart, _please_ , San-ah, please just wait, I’m so sorry—“

“We’ve secured it,” comes Siyeon’s steady voice from near San’s shoulder. Seonghwa glances over again to see a length of sturdy wire wrapped around the hilt of the spear, and three medics poised and ready to drag it out. Siyeon looks grim, her eyes fixed on the wound. “Hold him still, Seonghwa. This is going to hurt.”

“Please lie still, San-ah,” Seonghwa breathes, his fingers curling against warm scales. “It’s almost over, it’s going to be okay, it’s almost—“ 

San lurches beneath Seonghwa, claws scrabbling, letting out a low roar of pain that carves deep into Seonghwa’s very heart, and then San starts panting, but the breaths are normal, quick and even, hot puffs of air rising around Seonghwa’s body.

“It’s out,” Siyeon calls. “And it’s clean. It didn’t shatter, and it wasn’t barbed.”

“Can he shift?” Seonghwa says, even though he knows he should thank Siyeon, knows he should show gratitude for the medics who just saved his dragon, but all he can think about is how much pain San is in, and that strangely small voice, asking to shift— 

“Yeah, he should be fine to shift now,” Siyeon says. “I can bandage him up while he’s—“

That’s all San needs to hear, and suddenly the scales are shifting and then gone from beneath Seonghwa’s hands, and his thirty-ton dragon has become a slim, shivering young man, whom Seonghwa immediately pulls into his arms, not even minding that his shirt is in no time all-over blood, or that San is as bare as the day he was hatched.

San, in turn, clings to him, burying his face in the crook of Seonghwa’s neck, wrapping his good arm as tightly around Seonghwa as he can. His breaths still come in quick, panicked little puffs, hot against Seonghwa’s skin, and Seonghwa shushes him, whispers mindless platitudes and encouragement and god only knows what else, and he moves only once, to allow Siyeon to look at San’s wounded shoulder, still leaking blood, but nowhere near as gruesome as it was when he was a dragon.

“I’ll need to sew him up,” Siyeon says quietly, crouching beside them, her eyes gleaming in the darkness. Her arms are coated in black dragon blood from the elbow down, but she looks calm, sympathetic.

Seonghwa nods, his breath shaky.

“San-ah, will you let Siyeon close up your wound?” he asks, craning his neck slightly to try and meet San’s eye.

San says nothing, but he nods his dark head and shifts just enough to bare his injured shoulder.

“If I sew you up in human form, you’ll need to stay that way until you heal,” Siyeon says gently. “Is that okay?”

“Yes,” San says, barely audible. Siyeon glances at Seonghwa, who nods tightly, trusting that San knows what he wants, and then Siyeon gets to work.

Seonghwa holds San through every stitch, every whimper, petting his hair, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead, his cheek, the crown of his head. San trembles the whole time, but his grip on Seonghwa is strong, and his breathing gradually evens out as exhaustion replaces adrenaline.

“Done.” Siyeon presses down on the edges of a clean white bandage, settling it firmly over the wound, extending from San’s collarbone to his shoulder. “He can rest now. Take him back to the barracks; the wound is clean and closed, so there’s no reason to make him spend the night in the infirmary unless he starts to spike a fever.”

“Thank you,” Seonghwa says, trying to impart as much sincerity as he can into those two words. Siyeon smiles at him, sweeping a loose strand of hair behind her ear, leaving behind a streak of blood on her cheek.

“Get some rest,” she says, getting to her feet. “Both of you. The battle seems to be winding down, anyway. You won’t be needed.”

Seonghwa peers down at San, whose eyes are closed, his breathing slow and even. He looks pale, but not frighteningly so; some of the suffocating panic starts to fade from Seonghwa’s chest.

“San-ah?” he says, quietly. “Can you stand?”

San scrunches his face, which makes Seonghwa’s heart skip for other reasons, and nods. Seonghwa helps him to his feet, still keeping a firm arm around San’s waist, and then quickly slips out of his coat and wraps it gently around San’s shoulders, so he doesn’t make the trip back to the barracks entirely exposed.

They make it to Seonghwa’s room without incident. San slumps immediately onto Seonghwa’s bed, clearly exhausted, and Seonghwa manages to coax him into some pants and a loose shirt before he lies down, eyes already sliding shut.

Seonghwa toes off his boots and climbs into bed beside his dragon, not even bothering to change out of his bloodstained clothes. San rolls easily into his arms, trying to get as close as possible while still favoring his injured shoulder, and Seonghwa happily gathers him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, mostly to himself, since he’s not even sure whether San is fully awake. Seonghwa can still taste the terror lingering like ash in the back of his throat, can still recall the way his heart stopped as soon as San lurched, the way San’s pained cries echoed through his ears, ripped his chest in two—

“I’m okay,” San says quietly. Seonghwa feels the gentle press of lips against his throat, the barest hint of a kiss. His breath stutters; he runs a hand over San’s soft, dark hair, shot through with scarlet.

“I was so scared I might lose you,” Seonghwa breathes. “I never want to go through that again.”

“I’m sorry.” San wraps his arms around Seonghwa, snuggling even closer, warm breath against Seonghwa’s collarbones, soft hair against his cheek. “I won’t leave you,” San says muzzily, already half-asleep. “We’re still here.”

“We are,” Seonghwa says, half-choked by tears he forces back, and even when San’s breath evens out and he grows heavy in Seonghwa’s arms, fast asleep, Seonghwa doesn’t let himself sleep, his mind still alight with the remnants of lingering, terrible fear.

 _You’re okay_ , he thinks, over and over again. _You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re okay._

*

San is two years old—fully mature, by dragon standards—when their squadron first loses a captain.

It happens on a scouting mission. Changsik, a senior captain, in his forties and well-respected, gets caught in an ambush, and only his dragon Yulwoo manages to return, her captain’s body cradled gently in her foreclaws, the both of them spattered in cold, dark blood, Yulwoo keening terribly and utterly inconsolable. Her cries of mourning haunt the base late into the night, making each of the dragons huddle in misery, barely able to eat for shared grief.

Seonghwa and Yeosang decide to take San and Wooyoung—two of the youngest, and thus two of the only dragons to not have witnessed a death before—down to the seaside to escape the anguish permeating the entire base.

The young dragons curl together in a morose pile of limbs on the sand, Wooyoung’s large wings spread over them both. Seonghwa lets himself be hugged to San’s chest, feeling rather like a child’s stuffed animal, but it’s worth it if it makes San feel better.

“I saw her, when she first landed,” San says eventually, keeping his voice low. His claws trace absent, swirling patterns in the sand. “She wouldn’t let them take him, at first, and then when they finally did, they never… they never brought him back.” He shivers and nudges anxiously at Seonghwa, who pats him, his heart heavy.

“I know,” he says quietly. “But there was nothing to bring back. He’d already passed.”

San whines low in his throat, and Seonghwa closes his eyes, sighing.

“I’m sorry, San-ah,” he says. “As awful as it can be, death is just a part of life, and as long as we’re serving in the Corps, we will be forced to see it.”

“It becomes easier,” Yeosang says from his place curled up on Wooyoung’s forearm, leaning against Wooyoung’s chest. “You never actually get used to it, but it feels less… all-consuming.”

“What will happen to Yulwoo?” Wooyoung asks in a small voice.

“She’ll be allowed time to grieve,” Seonghwa says carefully, “and then she’ll get to choose whether she would like another captain, or whether she’ll retire from the Corps.”

Wooyoung whimpers, low and mournful, and noses at Yeosang.

“I don’t know what I’d do,” he says, and Yeosang sighs, patting his cheek.

“You won’t be taken from me for a long time, though, right?” San says, nudging Seonghwa gently. “Changsik was much older than you. Both of you.”

Seonghwa feels a pang in his chest, has to blink back a sudden prickle behind his eyes. He glances over at Yeosang, who meets his gaze with a soft, small smile.

“I’ll do everything in my power to not be taken from you before my time,” Seonghwa says quietly, the best and only promise he can make, but it appears to mollify both San and, after forcing Yeosang to make the same promise, Wooyoung, and soon enough the young dragons are distracted by a game of finding shooting stars, their grief slowly burning away like the morning mist.

*

Everything happens quickly, in the heat of battle.

One moment Seonghwa is focused on keeping San out of reach of an enemy dragon’s talons, urging him to break away even as his beloved, blood-thirsty dragon hisses at his opponent, flames curling around his jaws, and then a smaller dragon is crowding San’s other side, and a young man—a rider from the enemy dragon, sword drawn and face grim—has leapt from the smaller dragon’s back onto San’s. The boarder wastes no time before hooking himself onto San’s harness, so San can’t just roll him off, and then he straightens, using the length of his harness strap to make his careful way over to Seonghwa.

“Boarder!” Seonghwa yells to San, and San immediately breaks away from the main battle, the better to give Seonghwa a chance to deal with the new attacker.

Seonghwa stands in his harness, checking that his carabiners are firmly locked, and turns to face his attacker, drawing his own blade from its sheath on his back. The man is younger than Seonghwa, and looks a bit pale; Seonghwa wonders whether he’s ever tried to board another dragon before, or if this might be his first battle. 

“Would you like to surrender?” calls the boarder, pitching his voice to be heard over the wind; it’s a traditional question, as the surrender of the captain generally means the surrender of the dragon, and most dragons will refuse to fight if their captain is being held at gunpoint, but could potentially go mad with grief if their captain is cut down; a captive dragon is much more useful than a raging one.

“No, thank you,” Seonghwa says grimly, taking up a fighting stance.

“Right, then.” The boarder takes a deep breath, adjusts his grip on his sword, and then lunges forward.

Fighting on dragonback is much more about brute strength and balance than it is about footwork or blade control. Seonghwa meets the boarder’s lunge head on, catching his blade with his own, hilts locking. Seonghwa’s own feet are set firmly in the harness, placing him at a clear advantage over his opponent, who is kept on San’s back by a single harness strap and his own balance. The young boarder grunts and shoves hard, trying to overbalance Seonghwa, to get him to stagger or break away, but Seonghwa pushes back with just as much force, his thighs and biceps straining. Gritting his teeth, Seonghwa gives way just enough to make the boarder lean forward a bit, thinking he has the advantage, and then Seonghwa slips to the side, letting the boarder overbalance and almost topple past him, saved only by his carabiner, which Seonghwa takes a swing at, his blade slicing neatly through thick leather.

The boarder slashes at him from the side, and Seonghwa barely manages to scramble back, his own blade lifted to catch the blow. Their blades meet again with a scraping clang, and Seonghwa feels himself pushed back, the straps of his harness pulled taut. With a roar, he puts all his weight behind his blade and manages to shove his attacker back. The young man staggers, fumbling his blade as he makes a final, desperate swipe at Seonghwa. He misses a step on San’s sleek hide, and his ankle gives out beneath him, and then his eyes widen, and—no longer supported by his harness—he falls.

Seonghwa lunges for him, an automatic instinct born from years of flying, but it’s too late: The young man slips off San’s back and into freefall, plummeting into the ocean far below.

“Seonghwa?” San notices the fall and turns his head anxiously, his voice tight. “Seonghwa, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Seonghwa says, breathing hard. His hand shakes around the hilt of his sword. “Let’s head back to the formation.” He feels some of the tension release from San’s back as San curves his wings, banking with ease, heading back towards the rest of their squadron. Seonghwa lets out a deep breath and maneuvers back to his place at the nape of San’s neck, sheathing his sword. A few of his harness straps give oddly as he moves, and he glances at them, his stomach dropping; they’re almost entirely slashed through, the leather hanging by only a few straining strips.

“San-ah, try to stay even as you go, please,” he calls, trying not to let any concern show in his voice. “He cut the harness a bit.”

“I’ll be careful,” San says, and within no time, they’re back in the fray, San swooping low and smooth over a large emerald-scaled dragon attempting to gouge at Wooyoung’s wings with long, gleaming talons. San opens his jaws, inhaling, and then a rush of flames spews forth, making the emerald dragon screech and flee, disentangling itself from Wooyoung, who looks a bit bloodied but appears to be holding altitude just fine.

“You all right?” Yeosang calls over from Wooyoung’s back, one hand firm on Wooyoung’s neck.

“We’re fine,” Seonghwa calls back. “You?”

“I think we’re okay,” Yeosang says. “Wooyoung?”

“Just scratches,” Wooyoung says, his voice thankfully only a bit strained. “I’ll be fine.”

The battle continues, a flurry of gunshots and screaming men and dragon flame, and Seonghwa is just thinking that they all might make it out okay when a small courier-sized beast—not one of their own—wings past San’s head, fast enough to make San jerk back, startled, and a gunshot cracks through the air.

Seonghwa feels the impact in his side before he feels the pain; the bullet hits him like a blow, and he has just enough time to let out a short, startled breath before he topples back, feels his harness straps—not enough to hold, not when half of them have been sliced through—catch, go taut, and then snap, and then he tumbles into open air, his heart throbbing in his ears as air rushes past him, his breath sucked from his lungs.

The last thing Seonghwa hears before the world darkens is a terrifying roar just over his head, and then he knows nothing more.

He wakes gradually, sensations filtering back in like sunlight through leaves. The pain comes first, piercing through his skull, his right side. Next comes sound: shouts, voices both familiar and unfamiliar, the most familiar the loudest, Hongjoong, his voice bright with frustration and half-choked with fear, and above that, a low, terrible keening, deep enough to shake the earth.

“San-ah,” Seonghwa says, but his voice comes out slurred, too low for anyone to hear.

“San, _please_ , you need to let us look at him,” Hongjoong is saying, desperate.

“He won’t wake up,” San says, his voice shaking and small and very close, and Seonghwa forces his eyes open, trying to blink away the gray obscuring his vision. He’s surrounded by black scales, familiar claws curled around him and over his head, and he realizes distantly that he’s being cradled in San’s foreclaws, hidden away from the shouting voices. “I was calling for him,” San continues, “but he was so still, and he’s bleeding, and he won’t _wake up_ , he—” San’s voice breaks, and Seonghwa’s heart shatters.

“San-ah, we’re just going to make sure he’s alive, okay?” That’s Yunho, his voice calm, but Seonghwa can hear the tension there, the low tremble of fear. “You need to let us check him over. We won’t take him from you until we know that he’s all right, okay? We’ll stay right here, I promise.”

The claws around Seonghwa curl ever so slightly tighter.

“You promise?” San says. “You promise you won’t take him away? You won’t take him and never bring him back, like they did with—like they did—”

San breaks off, and Seonghwa finally realizes where San’s fears are coming from, as he recalls the way San curled in on himself after what happened to Changsik, after hearing Yulwoo’s grieving screams as her dying captain was borne away, never to return.

Seonghwa takes a deep, painful breath, wincing as his right side twinges, but he forces himself to move, levering himself half upright in the enclosure of San’s claws and pressing a hand to San’s scales.

“San-ah,” he calls out, his voice raspy, but stronger this time.

San gasps, and his claws unfurl, and Seonghwa finds himself being gently, tentatively nuzzled as San starts keening once again.

“Seonghwa,” San murmurs, his voice trembling. “Seonghwa, I was so scared, I was afraid that you were—I caught you, but you wouldn’t wake up, and then you were bleeding, and I thought maybe—I thought you might have—”

“I’m fine, San,” Seonghwa says, although the pain in his side and the aching in his head probably mean otherwise, but he can’t tell his dragon that, not when San sounds about ready to break. “You caught me. I’m fine.”

San lets out a low whine, and Seonghwa strokes his nose soothingly, shushing him. 

“Can we check him now, please?” Hongjoong asks. He’s still standing a little ways back from San in their usual clearing, Yunho at his side and a few medics waiting nearby. Hongjoong looks pale, his brow still creased with concern, but he forces a tight smile when Seonghwa meets his eye.

“Yes, please do,” San says, and opens his foreclaws all the way, allowing Yunho and a medic Seonghwa doesn’t recognize to clamber onto his palms beside Seonghwa.

“How’s your head?” Yunho asks as the medic automatically turns her attention to Seonghwa’s side, which has been throbbing steadily ever since he awoke.

“Sore,” Seonghwa says, grimacing as the medic touches his side, peeling apart the edges of the small bloody hole in his jacket and shirt. 

“Think you’re concussed?” Yunho cups gentle hands beneath Seonghwa’s jaw, turning his head first to the left, then to the right, looking intently at Seonghwa’s eyes.

“No nausea yet,” Seonghwa says, letting himself be lightly manhandled. “So might just be a side effect of the freefall.”

“Good news,” says the medic, sitting back onto her heels, blood on her hands. “Looks like the bullet just skimmed you; there’s no entry or exit wound, just a nice gash.”

“Oh, that’s good,” San says, leaning down close, eyes gleaming. “Getting shot hurts, but the worst part is getting it out afterwards. He should just need stitches, right?”

Yunho bites his lip, clearly trying to keep from laughing.

“That’s right,” says the medic, smiling up at San. “Will you let us take him to the infirmary now to get all stitched up? It’ll be better for him to be taken care of somewhere a bit more sanitary.”

“I’m right here,” Seonghwa says, exasperated.

“Yes, you may have him,” San says, and then he turns to Seonghwa. “Can you please come back in an hour or so, though? Just so I can see that you’re really all right.”

Seonghwa can’t help but smile at that, lifting a hand to pat San’s cheek. 

“Of course,” he says.

Yunho and the medic help Seonghwa climb out of San’s hands, and then Hongjoong joins them, looking less anxious, but still a bit grim.

“Please don’t do that again,” he says quietly, as they all start to head back to base. “San might not always be able to catch you, and we can’t afford to lose you.”

Seonghwa reaches out to take Hongjoong’s hand, squeezing lightly. “Understood,” he says quietly.

The stitches don’t take long, and after a quick bath, a change of clothes, and a small meal, Seonghwa heads back out to San’s clearing, his side still throbbing, but surprisingly not feeling too terrible after his near-death experience.

The clearing appears to be empty when he arrives, covered in long shadows as the sun dips below the horizon, but as soon as Seonghwa steps out of the treeline, a soft voice calls his name, and he turns to see San waiting for him in human form, clad in a billowy dark shirt and soft trousers, taken from the wardrobe Seonghwa and Yeosang had stashed nearby for when their dragons decided they wanted to shift.

Seonghwa spreads his arms, and San hurries to meet him, mindful enough of Seonghwa’s injury to not actually throw himself into Seonghwa’s arms, but still hugging him tightly, his arms wrapping around Seonghwa’s neck.

“You came back,” San says, hot breath against Seonghwa’s neck, and Seonghwa holds him close, burying his face in soft dark hair. 

“Of course I did.” Seonghwa rubs a soothing hand over San’s back. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, that must’ve been—” 

“No.” San tightens his arms, hiding his face against Seonghwa’s shoulder. “Please don’t apologize. It was terrible, because I was terrified that I might not catch you, and then when I _did_ catch you, you were so still, and bleeding, and then you wouldn’t wake up, and I thought that maybe you had—like Changsik—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “But it—it wasn’t your fault. So please don’t apologize.” He nuzzles against Seonghwa’s throat. “Just… please try not to do that again. Okay?”

Seonghwa’s heart beats heavy in his chest, his cheeks burning. “Okay,” he says, his voice barely audible.

They stand in silence for a few moments, embracing in the cool evening light, and then San shifts slightly in Seonghwa’s arms, carding one hand gently through Seonghwa’s hair.

“You know how… how Mingi was yours, when he was a hatchling?” San says.

“Mm-hm.” Seonghwa closes his eyes, enjoying the sensation of San’s fingers in his hair.

“And then he asked if he could have Yunho as a captain, instead?”

“I remember,” Seonghwa says, his voice low, trying to ignore the tiny, cold knot building in his stomach as he wonders where San is going with this.

“I don’t think that will ever happen to me,” San whispers.

Seonghwa blinks, the cold in his gut melting entirely away, washed over by stunned pleasure.

“O-oh?” he says, holding San just the slightest bit closer. 

“Yes.” San’s fingers curl into Seonghwa’s hair. “I am yours. I’ve been yours since before I even hatched, and I am still yours now, and I will be yours even years from now, I think. And you… you are mine.” He pauses, and Seonghwa can feel his hesitation, the way his breath shivers. “Aren’t you?”

Seonghwa pulls away, takes San gently by the shoulders so that he can meet his scarlet eyes, wide and shining in the evening shadows. San looks nervous, as though he’s expecting to be rejected, and Seonghwa’s chest feels tight, full of an emotion too warm and fluttering to be anything but love. Seonghwa smiles and leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to San’s forehead.

“Yes,” Seonghwa whispers. “I am yours.”

And it’s true; he’s been a captain before, has been fond of every dragon he’s seen hatched and raised, but never before has be been this attached, loved quite this much. He can’t quite imagine his life without San at this point, nor does he want to.

San beams at him, all pretty teeth and dimples, and then leans in to kiss Seonghwa on the lips, quick and chaste and sudden enough that Seonghwa startles slightly.

“Oh,” San says, noting Seonghwa’s surprise. His brow furrows. “Is that wrong? I’m sorry. I’ve just seen humans do that when they’re fond of each other, and I wanted to try it.”

“No, it—it’s fine.” Seonghwa laughs, hoping he doesn’t sound too panicked. “We might need to have a conversation about the actual intention behind kissing when most humans do it, but for now, just… it’s fine. Thank you.” He leans in and kisses San on the cheek, making San smile.

“Come on,” San says, taking Seonghwa’s hand and linking their fingers. “I haven’t eaten yet, and Wooyoung said that the chefs serve fun dishes when we’ve shifted. Can we go try some?”

“Of course,” Seonghwa says, and lets himself be led from the clearing, his heart warm and racing. The setting sun catches in San’s hair, as fiery as the flames he breathes. He looks lovely, and happy—almost too good to be true—and Seonghwa can’t help but smile.

*

**Author's Note:**

> DRGNZ OWO
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated - thanks for reading!
> 
> you can find me on twitter, if you like~ ♡
> 
> [main account](https://twitter.com/aintitnifty) | [writing account](https://twitter.com/magnificentbirb)


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